Shattered
by shakeitsalome
Summary: Not everyone's "meet" story is cute... Dean Ambrose/OC One-shot companion to Under Your Spell
**Content Warning: The following story features elements of rape, sexual abuse, and physical abuse. While said elements are not graphic, reader discretion is advised.**

 **A/N: A week later than originally planned, but here is the next one-shot. Hopefully this will answer a few of the questions some of you have had.**

Shattered

Dean Ambrose had seen flyers around town for the recently-formed promotion but had paid it little mind. Adjusting to FCW and life in Florida kept him busy. He had a reason to keep his nose clean now. The fact that said reason was his lifelong dream made it even easier to stay in line. Besides, he was – for now, at least – done with the independent scene. He had no pull with anyone anywhere, so scoping out newer talent was a waste of his time.

But the flyers kept showing up. First on lamp posts around town, then taped to the windows of the store where he always bought cigarettes. When he found one shoved under the windshield wiper of his car outside the grocery store, he finally caved and looked over the neon green sheet of paper. None of the names were familiar. Neither was the name of the promotion. With a shrug, he threw it into the passenger seat and forgot about it immediately.

Until later that week, when he was rummaging through his car looking for something else and came across the rumpled sheet of paper. He saw that there was a show that night and, having nothing better to do on a stormy Friday, decided to head over and check it out. After all, it was wrestling. How bad could it be?

As it turned out, pretty bad. He found out from conversations around him that the promotion was a school as well, and that fact was painfully obvious in the stiff movements and overselling. Somehow he managed to keep his face impassive through cringe-worthy promos, delayed reactions, and sloppy moves. One eyebrow lifted in surprise when a women's match began and quickly devolved into the two women nearly stripping each other and rolling around like a bad lesbian porn scene.

He clapped when it was over, grateful the entrance fee had only been a few dollars. Avoiding the line forming at the measly merchandise table, he scanned the large room. The ring and a few dozen folding chairs had been set up in an old abandoned high school gym. No one under the age of eighteen had been allowed in, but he was pretty sure a few had slipped in under the radar. Not that there were that many people in attendance...

"Well I'll be damned!"

About to duck out, Dean turned at the sound of the booming voice, not recognizing the middle-aged man that was approaching. He supposed the guy thought he was important, judging by the swaggering way he was walking towards Dean. After taking in the weak chin, stringy gray hair that was balding on top, and black t-shirt stretched over a pot belly, he glanced to the short redhead following just two steps behind.

 _Cute_ , he thought, automatically smiling in her direction. Certainly cuter than the overdone gals that had been in the ring. Realizing the man was talking to him, he blinked and shifted his gaze to the source of the annoying voice.

"...Obviously you don't need an introduction. I've enjoyed your work the past couple years. Name's Len. Len Morris."

"Yeah? And you are...?"

The little redhead choked on a laugh, masking it expertly with a cough. One quick look from Len had her sobering, though, and she began staring at the floor.

"Owner, principal trainer, promoter..."

Dean felt his eyes start to glaze over as Len rattled off every job he had in the tiny promotion. He was surprised the man didn't take credit for sweeping up the floors. There was no opportunity to speak so he merely stood there, nodding once in a while and wondering if Len was ever going to get to a point. Finally, when Len began talking about how he'd once met Dusty Rhodes in a bar, Dean threw up a hand. "Dude, sorry, but I gotta hit the bathroom. Can we finish this later over a beer or something?"

"Sure thing. Come to my office. Turn left at the end of the hall, third door on the right."

He planned to duck out and leave. Len wasn't anyone he could ever see himself becoming even acquaintances with the dude, and it wasn't as though he'd ever need the less-than-stellar training that the school offered. But the little redhead looked at him in a sad way. And, being a sucker for sad, hopeful looks, he went off to find the bathroom knowing he'd hang around the place a little longer.

On a cleanliness scale, the bathroom was half a point above a truck stop bathroom after chili night, but only because there was a bottle of hand sanitizer next to the sink. He stepped around a couple making out next to the door, ignoring a slurred invitation, and cursed his own snobbery as he strolled down the hall in the direction of Len's office. It hadn't been so long ago that he would have been fingering a chick in a bathroom after a show. It hadn't been so long ago that he would have been delighted to have been delighted to be in any ring he could find, no matter how low the standards were. He supposed his months under the wings of WWE had spoiled him. After all, now he could finger a chick in a clean locker room.

Left at the end of the hall. Third door on the left. No, right. Third door on the right. No, right at the end of the hall, third door on the left. Right? Wagging one finger back and forth, he muttered "eeny meeny miney moe" and turned left. The first doors he passed were open so he continued on while the storm outside raged, starting to think he'd gone in the wrong direction when he came to a door that was closed. A brass plaque was attached to the door, announcing that it was Len's office. Reaching to open the door, he paused at the sound of muffled moans.

"Goddamn, that was quick," he muttered, pulling his hand back.

Was Len banging the little redhead? Dean frowned at that thought, having planned to ask her out himself. But if she was into balding, fat, middle-aged dudes...

Strange, though, how the moans seemed to be male. Maybe Len batted for the other team. Wrinkling his nose at the mental image that thought conjured, he was about to turn away and leave when he heard a female voice.

"No."

A tiny, scared female voice. Followed by that swaggering, egotistical voice of Len's.

"Shut up and take it. It's all you're good for."

He should go. Going would definitely be the right thing to do. He wasn't invested in any of these people. He didn't want to get involved. He was going to leave, go home to his nice little apartment and take a hot shower, then enjoy a good night's sleep.

But through the door he heard a cry of pain. Followed by the distinct sounds of a woman sobbing. And he thought of all the times he hadn't intervened when he should have. And before he could stop himself he was pushing the door open.

He saw Len. Shirtless, hairy Len. He saw the redhead. She was bent over the desk. Len was holding her down. She was crying. Len was grunting, rooting against her behind like a hog at a trough, and when he saw Dean he just nodded.

"Be done with her in a minute. Just getting her ass ready for you."

Dean recoiled in horror, certain he'd misheard. Unable to formulate a response, he could only stare as Len began moving faster. The redhead started sobbing harder. He couldn't see her face; her wild curly hair had fallen forward. But he did hear her next words.

"No! It hurts!"

Before he could think of all the reasons he shouldn't, Dean surged forward and shoved Len away. He put himself between the man and the girl, seeing red when Len leered at him and suggested Dean couldn't wait. He turned in time to see the redhead was scrambling away from the desk then whipped around and began to swing his fists.

He felt blood on his knuckles. Not sure if it was his or Len's, he kept punching, throwing in a kick to the man's crotch when a meaty hand met his cheek in a sharp slap. When Len fell he followed, his head filled with the sounds of her cries and sobs.

"You piece of shit," he seethed, slamming the balding head against the floor. He did it again, almost enjoying the way Len's eyes bugged each time the back of his head slammed against the cracked tile. Seeing blood smeared against it he stopped, shoving himself away and jumping to his feet.

Behind him, the soft gasps of someone trying to stop crying. He turned, wincing when his knuckles began to sting, and met a pair of terrified green eyes.

"Was this the first time?" he asked, as softly as he could manage to. She sniffled from her position in the far corner and shook her head. Feeling his heart break for her, he shrugged off his jacket and approached her, holding the garment out. "It's okay," he promised when she shrank back. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He heard movement behind him as she tentatively took the jacket. Turning, he lifted a brow at the sight of Len with blood pouring from his nose. "How many times have you kept going when she said no?"

Len wiped his nose, then spat on the floor. "She always says no. Ungrateful little bitch. Told her I'd make her a star and she doesn't thank me."

"A star?" Dean repeated. He seriously doubted this hellhole would produce any stars whatsoever.

"She ain't cut out for the ring." Len spat again. This time Dean was sure he heard a tooth hit the floor. "I got contacts willing to pay good money for a hot little redhead."

Dean looked to the redhead again. "Did you sign anything for this asshole?"

She shook her head, huddling further into the corner and holding his jacket close around her. "He said I w-was on trial."

He swiveled his head to Len again. "Do you owe her any money?"

"I don't owe her shit—"

"Three thousand," the girl whispered brokenly.

"Bullshit," Len growled, holding one hand over his nose. "I got bills to pay."

"When was the last time he paid you?" Dean asked her, ignoring Len.

"He's never paid me," she murmured. "He gives me money now and then, but I have to bring my bills to him and he pays them."

Dean had three million questions to ask but knew it was not the time to start asking them. So, raking his aching fingers through his hair, he turned to Len. "Tell you what. You give her half the money you owe her, use the other half to get that nose of yours fixed, and you say goodbye."

"Or what?" Len sneered.

"Or I can continue beating your ass." He looked to her again. "Do you want to call the cops?"

She shook her head so rapidly her hair concealed her face again. "Please don't."

Dean nodded. It was her choice and he'd respect that no matter how much he disagreed. Turning back to Len, he narrowed his eyes. "Pay up, asshole."

* * *

Two hours passed before Dean was able to see to his knuckles. He'd bought a first aid kit at Walmart, along with a few other supplies, before talking the redhead into taking up his offer of a hotel room for the night. She'd balked, had gently tried to argue, but finally relented when he pointed out that Len knew where she lived. When asked if there was anything at her place she wanted, she'd shook her head and clutched the backpack she'd brought out of the old school.

While she showered, he sat at the little desk in the corner, wincing as he poured alcohol over his split knuckles. He didn't need stitches, and knew they'd hurt like a bitch the next day. There would also be a dozen questions when he showed up for his scheduled training time. Hissing, he flexed his fingers after bandaging them as best he could. He wished he'd bought a bottle of liquor to dull the pain.

She stayed in the bathroom for so long he wondered if she was planning to sleep in the tub. Cleaning up his mess, he heard the clatter of a shampoo bottle falling in the tub and moved to the door, knocking gently with is left hand.

"You okay?" he called.

"Yeah."

He frowned, amazed at his own stupidity. Of course she wasn't okay. She'd been raped, for fuck's sake. Running a hand over his face, he moved away from the door when he heard the water turn off. He didn't know why he was sticking around. He'd paid for three nights of the room for her. She had money. He'd seen to that when Len had pulled out his wallet. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get her into a little apartment and start fresh.

Maybe he should go before she came out. She'd probably be weirded out if he stayed. He'd helped her out. He couldn't help her anymore. He'd leave his number, tell her to call him if she needed help finding a place to stay or whatever. He crossed to the desk again, reached for the supplied pen and pad, only to go still when the bathroom door opened.

She came out wearing sweatpants and one of the t-shirts he'd bought her at Walmart. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel. Her cheeks were red and he imagined her standing under a steady stream of hot water to wash her tears away. Green eyes regarding him warily, she hesitated in the doorway.

"Don't forget to eat," he blurted, nodding to the fast food bags and drinks waiting on the dresser.

She looked over and nodded once. But she made no move to get the food.

"Hey," he said gently, dropping the pen to the desk. "Do... Um... Do you need to talk or anything? I'm not a head shrink but I got an open ear."

"Why did you help me?" she asked softly.

"Of all the people in the world, you needed help the most." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the window when lightning flashed. He felt her tense and instinctively moved to close the curtains.

"Thank you." She'd come further into the room.

"No problem."

"I'm always a problem."

"Nah," he disagreed.

"Are... Are you staying here?" Her voice was tinged with fear.

"I'm a horny bastard, babes, but even I draw the lines at putting the moves on a lady that was just raped." He flinched at his own words, but was relieved when she cracked a smile.

"How can I repay you?"

Ah, hell. "Well, for starters... You could tell me your name."

"Sophia."

Sophia. He tried it out in his mind, pushing away the image of a tiny gray-haired woman from _Golden Girls_. "Sophia. I'm Dean."

"Dean." She smiled again, a little more genuinely this time, only to cower at the sound of distant thunder. "C-can you stay just a little bit longer? I mean, I can't eat all the food you bought by myself. And..."

Her eyes met his and he understood. She didn't want to be alone. He supposed his company was better than none. Nodding, he grabbed the fast food and spread it out on the little desk. He didn't question when she slipped a pillow into her seat before sitting down. Mentally cursing Len to the depths of hell and wishing he'd killed the bastard, he took the other seat and reached for the fries. He'd eat. Keep her company. Then he'd go.

They ate in relative silence, she occasionally telling him something about how she'd come to be in Len's office. He perked up when she mentioned working for a promotion out on the west coast and asked about some guys he'd known out there. She lit up while they discussed mutual acquaintances, and lit up further when it segued into her own body of work. There was a passion in her as she talked about wrestling, one he hadn't seen in many people in recent months, and before he knew it the food was gone and they were still talking.

"I know a guy," he announced while he cleared away the wrappers and crumpled napkins. "He runs a small promotion, but they've got a good rep. It's over in Orlando. I don't know if he's looking for anyone right now, but I could give him a call if you want?"

"You'd do that?" she asked in awe.

"Well, yeah. It's a family-friendly thing, so you don't have to worry about him asking you to strip for the crowd and shit." Her eyes darkened and she looked away. Mentally kicking himself, he surged on. "He's also close with the scouts from WWE. I can't make promises but, y'know, it doesn't hurt to try, right?"

"Right," she echoed.

"Chin up, Soph." She'd removed the towel from her head and without thinking he lightly tousled her wild curls. "We'll find you something."

"We?"

He froze, noting the hopefulness in the one word. Then, smiling, he nodded. "Yeah. We."

"You don't have to. I mean, I know you don't want to be stuck with me—"

"Who said anything about being stuck?" he interrupted. "Besides, if anything, you're the one stuck with me."

"I can think of worse people to be stuck with."

"Ditto. So, what do you say?"

"To what? You calling the guy you know, us finding me something, or me being stuck with you?" Chin propped on her hand, she looked at him with a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

"All of the above," he grunted.

She was silent for a long time, staring at him as though she could work out every bit of his psyche just by looking into his eyes. Just when he began to feel she could actually see into his mind, she curved her lips into a sweet smile.

"I say..." Her head tilted to one side, she shrugged. "Oh, what the hell? I say sure."

~fin


End file.
